


Child Ballad #114

by katineto (mistalagan)



Series: YoI One-Shots [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Poor Vicchan, the one where Yuuri is a poacher and Viktor is a king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 08:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17383046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistalagan/pseuds/katineto
Summary: It would be his right to die quick, by the long drop, were he only to lay down his arms and let them come for him. But Yuuri, he finds, is not that kind of man.





	Child Ballad #114

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on Tumblr.

It would be his right to die quick, by the long drop, were he only to lay down his arms and let them come for him. But Yuuri, he finds, is not that kind of man. 

He sits braced against a strong oak tree, bow held taut with just enough strength to kill, bleeding sluggishly from the leg. To one side lies the evidence of his crime, a red hind freshly downed and half-dressed; to the other, the body of his faithful Vicchan, who’d leapt to his defense as bravely as any nobleman’s hound. The foresters hesitate. They could end him easily, but there is no guarantee he would not take at least one with him. All they really have to do is wait for his wound to finish the job.

He spares a thought for his family, and for Minako who’d first set a bow in his hands. She’d slap him silly for ignoring her warning ( _the king_ _’s hunting these woods today, his foresters will be swarming like termites in the wood; no time for a poacher!_ ). He almost giggles at the thought. It’s not funny, but he’s beginning to feel dizzy and light.

Far off in the distance, he can hear the cry and bluster of the hounds and horses that grow closer by the moment. One of the foresters snarls. “Just do it,” he says, and makes as if to pull back his arrow.

Yuuri’s is aimed at his throat in a heartbeat. The mere threat is enough for the man to pause.

“Just wait,” another drawls, almost bored. He nods down at the darkened patch of soil that grows steadily wider beneath Yuuri’s flank. “Won’t be long.”

Yuuri can already feel his arms starting to shake.

The ground rumbles. The foresters shout and scatter as a great white horse comes crashing into the clearing, followed by a great company of men and dogs. The horse skids to a halt, it’s rider breathing hard with laughter. “What this, then?” the man says, his voice commanding even in a question. 

His silver hair shines in the sunlight. Yuuri lets his bow drop. His arrow falls uselessly to the ground. Even he would not be so audacious as to take aim at the king.

“Just a poacher, your Majesty,” the chief forester explains, glancing angrily Yuuri’s way. “He’ll be taken care of shortly…”

The king swings lightly off his horse. “Just a poacher?” he repeats, “One who holds seven strong men at bay, I see.” He approaches, crouches, lifts Yuuri’s chin with two long fingers. “Poacher,” he says, “I have been at the hunt all day, and not one of us has caught so much as a rabbit. Yet here you are, with as fine a deer as I’ve ever seen. Could it be that I am merely unlucky, or have you taken all the game in the forest to go with it?” 

Yuuri grows bold with too much drink, and also it seems with too little blood. “Maybe you’re too loud,” he says, and swallows back his immediate horror at the insolent words.

The king stills, his countenance briefly blank, before throwing back his head in laughter. Yuuri flinches. When he quiets, the man’s thin smile is unreadable. “Have you heard the tale of the white hart?”

Yuuri nods. Yes, of course—the ghostly stag that the royal family is said to have fruitlessly pursued for years. Some say that whoever catches it will have their greatest wish granted; others, that its death might break the long curse laid upon the royal house; others, that it is only a fairy tale, or a strange delusion.

“For hunting in my forests, the penalty is your life,” the king says, and rises. “So thus I shall take it. Until the white hart is dead by my arrow, you will serve me in the hunt; and in other ways, besides.” He gestures to some member of his retinue. “Be sure this man survives his injuries, and take him to the palace.” His grin becomes sharper as he turns away. “I’ll be sure to see you there, _Yuu_ ri.”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Johnny O'Braidislee. There's a version of this ballad where Johnny doesn't die, because when the king hears about it he tells everyone he'd rather all his subjects be hurt than Johnny and subsequently invites him to his court...


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